Page 13 of Her Vow to Be His Desert Queen

She’d been to France once, on a school trip years ago, and all she could remember was that it had been cold and everyone had complained. But now it was here, glittering in the darkness as the helicopter swooped over the city before coming in to land on a large expanse of green lawn that appeared to be part of a private residence.

Despite herself, an excited little thrill shot through her.

Apart from that one school trip, she’d never been abroad, and certainly she hadn’t while she’d been working on building up the charity. She’d been too busy to think of taking a holiday let alone where to take one. But if she’d had time, Paris would certainly have been top of her list. All those ancient churches and delicious food and rich history and culture...

You talked about it with him once, remember?

Another memory drifted through her head, of one night in her college rooms, where he’d joined her to study, and they’d talked about travel and the other places he’d been to, which had then evolved into a discussion about all the places she wanted to go, including Paris. Had he remembered that? Was that why they were here?

Again, if he’d done it five years earlier, she would have been thrilled. She was less so now, especially when he hadn’t even asked if she wanted to go. Now, with his sudden reappearance in her life and this marriage demand, it felt...calculated almost.

The thought sat uncomfortably in her head as the helicopter door was pulled open and Khalil got out. He handed both his headset and Sidonie’s to an aide, but when another aide approached he gave him a sharp look. The man bowed his head and dropped back as Khalil turned to her, holding out his arm.

‘Come,’ he said regally. ‘I will escort you myself.’

There were people watching her and, since she didn’t want to create a drama by protesting, she laid her fingers on his forearm, feeling warm wool and hard muscle, the power that he held contained within that magnificent body of his. It was rock-solid, that arm, and she had the sense, as she climbed awkwardly out of the machine, that she could lean her whole weight on it and it wouldn’t move.

But she didn’t want to think about how good he felt, so she forced the feeling away as he led her through an ornate and magnificent garden, towards an equally ornate and magnificent mansion, with stone balconies and huge windows. They went up some steps, stepping through the door into a grand hallway with a sweeping staircase and high ceilings. There were paintings on those ceilings, and glittering chandeliers hanging from them.

Khalil didn’t pause as a whole army of servants surrounded them, merely continuing on straight through them as if they weren’t there, guiding her up that sweeping staircase and down a long hallway. At the end of the hallway were some doors standing open onto a stone terrace.

The Eiffel Tower was squarely in front of them, taking up the whole sky, while on the terrace stood tubs of flowers and shrubs and small trees. There were candles everywhere. A small table covered with a white tablecloth stood in the middle of the terrace, and it had been set with silver cutlery and crystal glasses. In an ice bucket a bottle of champagne rested.

It was beautiful and achingly romantic. The perfect setting for an engagement.

If she’d been the old Sidonie, her heart would have burst from happiness. If she’d been the old Sidonie she would have said yes the moment he’d walked through the door.

But she wasn’t the old Sidonie.

She was harder, more guarded, and that heart of hers had been broken.

He was the one who had broken it. And, while she was long over that now, she wasn’t going to risk him breaking it again. Which was why her answer was always going to be ‘no’.

CHAPTER THREE

KHALILWATCHEDSIDONIE’Sbeautiful green eyes widen, and he allowed himself a small measure of satisfaction at the flicker of awe on her face. But then, almost in the same moment, the awe was gone, her expression smoothing into that same cool mask he’d observed in the helicopter.

It annoyed him and at the same time intrigued him, he couldn’t deny it. Sidonie had once been so open, never hiding anything from him. He’d always been able to tell what she was feeling and that was part of the reason he wanted her as his queen.

After the kind of childhood he’d had, brought up in his mother’s house in the mountains and subject to the rigorous discipline that his mother had believed would turn him into a strong king, Sidonie’s emotional honesty had seemed shocking to him at first. She’d seemed to be a relatively quiet and subdued person when they’d met, but he’d soon realised that her quietness had hidden a deeply passionate nature. She felt things deeply, the way he did, but they’d both been taught certain things about emotions, and it had taken some time to overcome those lessons and to trust each other.

Her aunt had taught her that her feelings were too demanding and needed to be controlled, while his mother had taught him that emotions were weaknesses, flaws to be exploited.

Gradually, as they’d become more open with each other, Sidonie had blossomed. She was so honest about her feelings with him, and he’d learned that there was nothing manipulative or fake about her. She always said what she meant, and he could always trust what she said.

Which was why that night in Soho, when she’d told him she loved him, had been so very hard. Because he’d known it was true. Shedidlove him. She loved him and he was going to have to hurt her.

Perhaps that was why she was more guarded than she once had been, hiding behind that cool veneer of hers.

She was protecting herself because of him.

Regret twisted inside him, but he ignored it. Regret wasn’t for kings. They made the decisions they did for the good of their country and they did not look back on them.

He studied her now, standing on the terrace in her tailored black trousers and plain white shirt, her red hair sleek in its little bun. Her lovely face betrayed nothing, her green eyes cool. So very self-possessed.

It made him want to know what she’d been doing these past five years. Certainly he’d made assumptions—her having a supervisor for example—that were clearly wrong, which was his own fault. He should have investigated how her charity was doing before he’d made the trip to England, but he hadn’t because he’d thought... Well. He’d thought she’d still be the same as the woman he remembered. And she wasn’t.

This little terrace scene he’d had his staff put together had been based on a conversation he’d had with her about Paris once, and he’d hoped it would sway her into agreeing to be his queen.

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